


Forget Me Not

by AnchorsOutAtSea



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Dialogue, Destiny, First Time, Fix-It, M/M, Memory Loss, Mutual Pining, Post-Canon Fix-It
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-18
Updated: 2020-04-04
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:54:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22217374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnchorsOutAtSea/pseuds/AnchorsOutAtSea
Summary: After the events of the dragon hunt, Jaskier cannot get Geralt's words out his head. Riddled with guilt and heartbreak, the bard finds a mage to give Geralt what he asked for, the blessing of Jaskier being taken off his hands... in the form of Jaskier entirely forgetting who Geralt is.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 145
Kudos: 892





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is not a part of the series I'm working on, but I can't stop writing Jaskier and Geralt. Send help. And this one has chapters. God help us all. 
> 
> There's some pov changes in this fic, but it's easily decipherable based on the page breaks. The lute means Jaskier's pov, the school of the wolf witcher symbol for Geralt. The quality of them looks _fine_ on AO3 on my computer, so my apologies if it looks like hot garbage if you're reading this on any other device.
> 
> Let the angst commence.

"Why is it whenever I find myself in a pile of shit these days, it's you, shoveling it?" Geralt snarled, stalking towards the bard angrily.

"Well, that's not fair-" Jaskier attempted to protest.

"The Child Surprise, the djinn, all of it! If life could give me one blessing, it would be to take you off my hands!" Geralt turned his back to Jaskier, walking away a few paces, clearly too furious to even look at him.

Jaskier felt as though he had been crushed, his stomach clenching uncomfortably and his heart aching painfully. His lungs felt constricted, like he couldn't get enough air despite his sharp intake of breath. He swallowed hard. "Right. Uh...right, then. I'll... I'll go get the rest of the story from the others." He stood there for a moment, his eyed fixed on the back of the witcher's head. "I'll see you around, Geralt." He muttered before finally walking away.  
  


  


Jaskier was drunk. Very, very drunk. He sat alone in a dark corner table of a pub, the flickering flame of the candle not helping his blurred, unfocused vision. He squinted at his notebook, his grip on his quill almost painful as he reread what he had already written. It was shit. Well, it wasn't shit, but it was certainly lacking something. Every time he tried to write another line, his thoughts just wandering back to Geralt, despite mug after mug after mug of Est Est. He was sick of writing every line about the _one_ individual he didn't want to write about anymore. It had only been a few hours since Geralt had made it abundantly clear that he no longer wanted anything to do with him, and the emotional wound was still deep and fresh. He thought the alcohol would help, and yet the only thing Jaskier could think about was the broad set of Geralt's shoulders, the way his adam's apple bobbed when he growled Jaskier's name, those abnormally yellow eyes- Jaskier sighed in frustration, marking through the last couple of lines he had written and flipping a few pages. Maybe he should stop trying to finish this song, and begin a different one. But as he flipped through his notebook, the only other story he hadn't already sang about was from the dragon hunt, and of course _that_ made him think of Geralt too. It seemed everything did.

Things had been easier before Yennefer. Sure, Geralt was just sort of... perpetually pissed off, especially at Jaskier, but he had never spoken to Jaskier like he had up on that mountain after Yennefer had left. Jaskier snorted, draining his mug, and motioning for one of the bar wenches to keep them coming. Yennefer had complicated _everything_ , from the moment she and Geralt had first kissed. Maybe from the moment Geralt had ever laid eyes on her. For whatever reason, Geralt was completely wrapped around Yennefer's finger, the moon to his tides, and the witcher apparently was struggling to get the sorceress off of his mind, just as Jaskier had been struggling to get Geralt off of his mind. Jaskier couldn't understand _why_ Geralt was so captivated by Yennefer. Sure, she was beautiful and fearless and powerful, all the things Jaskier wasn't. But despite Geralt blaming _him_ for everything, it seemed that just as many quests had went south with the witch's involvement. He hummed a tune, inspiration striking him, and flipped to the page he had been working on, quickly writing the lyrics and singing them as they came to his mind. He picked up his lute, plucking a morose tune." _She's always bad news, it's always lose-lose. So, tell me, love, tell me, love, how is that just? But this story is this, she'll destroy with a sweet kiss, a sweet kiss._ "

The woman he had motioned for another drink arrived at his table as he was singing. She was an older woman that gave off a motherly disposition, and she was always working the few other times Jaskier had visited this pub. She sat a new mug down in front of him, just as he began strumming his lute harder, the chords he had been humming paired with the sullen lyrics. "That sounds beautiful. Devastating, but beautiful." She muttered honestly. "You're really putting your heart and soul in that one, aren't you, bard?" She laughed somberly, attempting to lighten the mood when Jaskier's lips didn't even twitch. "Makes for a good song, but someone definitely broke your heart recently." She ruffled his hair playfully and gave him a sympathetic look, sliding his coin back to him when he tried to pay. 

Jaskier forced a smile, and thanked her for the wine. She had no idea how right she was.  
  


Jaskier stumbled over to the center table of the pub, already having drank too much. He squinted his blurry eyes at his lute, making sure it was tuned properly for his newly finished song.

"Aye, finally some music!" A drunken, scraggly looking dwarf yelled from the back. "You've been in this town for how many weeks now and haven't performed for us?!"

"Yeah! What good is a bard that doesn't sing?" The dwarf's companion bellowed out.

"Hush, now. Let the boy sing." The motherly woman working at the pub snapped at them, collecting empty mugs from their table. Jaskier had learned that her name was Ascilia. She had taken a liking to Jaskier, and was letting him stay for next to naught in the inn connected to the pub. He was sure that the owner wasn't too pleased with it, but Jaskier had been keeping to himself, and at this point had established his name well enough that his stay had actually attracted visitors. Everyone wanted to hear about the Butcher of Blaviken, turned White Wolf. Jaskier hated the constant reminder of Geralt, hated how he had to focus on keeping his normally exaggerated facial features neutral as people pestered and prodded him for tales of the mighty witcher. He, of course, gave them their fill of stories. He was still a bard after all. But one of his favorite topics of discussion had become the hardest thing for him to talk about, struggling to keep the bitterness from his voice as he rehashed the fables. No one ever bothered to ask him why he was just droning on about the stories like a bored school teacher instead of singing about them. No one but Ascilia. The sweet woman had been trying to get Jaskier to pour his heart out to her from his first night's stay. Jaskier could never talk about it. He didn't even want to think about it. It still hurt far too much. He still _ached_ for Geralt like he never had for another person. Losing Geralt had felt like losing a limb. 

Jaskier wasn't sure when his feelings for Geralt had changed. Maybe it was the first time he ever laid eyes on him brooding in a dark corner, just as stunning as ever despite the sour look on his face when Jaskier had approached him. Maybe it was when Geralt agreed to protect him at Pavetta's betrothal ceremony. Possibly when Geralt had actually asked for _his_ help, because he could recall just how badly his hands shook as he had to apply chamomile onto the witcher's gracious ass. That one _certainly_ hadn't helped. But somewhere along the way, Jaskier found himself _longing_ for Geralt's company, attempting to track him down every time he caught wind of his name in every new town (and old) town he visited. His feelings were only set in stone the very first time he made Geralt laugh. The noise was nothing more than a rumbling huff from deep in the witcher's chest, startled out of him by something foolish Jaskier had said. They had both stared at each other in surprise for moment, both equally shocked that Geralt had laughed. Geralt finding Jaskier funny was...new. He always thought that Geralt just barely tolerated him, trained in patience at Kaer Morhen, but Jaskier had finally been the reason to alter his normally stoic or sardonic disposition and facial expressions. Jaskier distinctly remembered immediately breaking out into a bright smile, remembered how it lit him up from the inside to know that he had made Geralt _happy_ , or at least something similar. Geralt had glared at him and shoved him, but there was a little smile on his lips that would be etched into Jaskier's mind forever.

Jaskier shook the thoughts from his head, allowing his lute to hang from it's strap just long enough to down a mostly full cup of some disgusting, bitter beer. He was running low on funds, and had to cut back on the Est Est and Everluce, but at least he wasn't sober. He didn't think he could be for this performance. "This is my first time performing this particular song." He announced, grabbing his lute again and having to concentrate to prevent his words from slurring. "I just finished writing it, just the other morn." The dwarf, his companion, and a few others in the pub whooped and hollered, and Jaskier forced a smile. He knew they were expecting a story of monsters with fangs, claws, and aversion to silver, but this song was different. It was about a beautiful monster with bright violet eyes and raven black hair. " _The fairer sex, they often call it, but her love’s as unfair as a crook. It steals all my reason, commits every treason, of logic, with naught but a look. A storm breaking on the horizon, of longing and heartache and lust. She’s always bad news, it’s always lose, lose. So tell me love, tell me love, tell me love, how is that just? But the story is this, she’ll destroy with her sweet kiss, her sweet kiss. Her current is pulling you closer and charging the hot humid night. The red sky at dawn is giving a warning, you fool, better stay out of sight. I'm_ weak _my love, and I am wanting. If this is the path I must trudge, I'll welcome my sentence, give to you my penance, garroter, jury and judge_ -"

"Oi! You sad fuck, no one wants to hear this sappy shit!" The dwarf suddenly shouted out, causing the people at his table to cackle. He threw his mug and Jaskier was just barely able to drunkenly duck. It hit the wall behind him and shattered.

Ascilia then appeared, her expression stormy and her hands on her hips. "You pick that up right now, and either you learn how to act properly or you get the hell out." She snapped, pointing in the direction of the broken mug. The dwarf stood uneasily, looking like a sulking child to go pick up his mess.

Jaskier took the direction as an opportunity to plop down on the bench of the table he had been sitting on sadly. He wasn't sure if the song was really shit, or if commoners didn't want to hear love ballads when they could hear jigs or sonnets about death and victory. A few people came over and tossed him some coins, but based on their sympathetic expressions, it was out of pity and not out of enjoyment for his song.

Ascilia slid onto the bench on the other side of the table, startling Jaskier because he was too busy staring at his lute and thinking about how Geralt was the reason he had the beautiful instrument. "Alright, honey. Out with it. What happened?"

Jaskier looked up at his, his head hanging low. He didn't feel as though she had any plans of letting up, and maybe there was a reason she took such an interest. Maybe she could offer some sort of help or advice. Jaskier was willing to take anything at this point. "I... the person I love, loves another." He finally stated simply.  
  
Rolling her eyes, Ascilia replied "I _know_ that, Jaskier. It's clear in the song that that woman hurt you something fierce." Jaskier gritted his teeth. He expected others to read into the song as if it were about her when it was actually about what she took from him, and he was okay with that. It would be far too easy to piece together that the song was about Geralt had it been written any other way. "That's not what I was asking. Look at you, boy. I'm sure you've left quite the trail of broken hearts in your day. What makes this one so special? You've been moping around here for weeks. I've never seen you stay in town for this long."  
  
"This one..." Jaskier bit his lip, carefully extracting his wording as he looked down at his lute. "This one is different. I've been trying to overcome this...break up, of sorts, the entire time I've been here." He sighed, his fingers idly plucking at the strings of his lute with no real tune or song in mind. He smiled wryly. "I'm sure you can tell it's working out swimmingly for me."  
  
"It's time for you to move on, honey."  
  
Sighing, Jaskier stopped fiddling with his lute and looked back up at Ascilia. "I should have moved on long before now. I never stood a chance." He swallowed hard, blinking the stinging from his eyes. He was such a fool. How could he have entertained the thought of having feelings for Geralt? Geralt refused to even acknowledge their friendship, why was he so masochistic that he wanted something even more?  
  
"There might be...someone in town who can help you." Ascilia's voice was soft and hesitant. "A mage."  
  
Jaskier laughed humorlessly. "I don't think love potions are real."  
  
"You're right, they're probably not. But he could perhaps help you in another way. Winter's ago, my sister's baby came down with an awful sickness. The poor darling wasn't even a year old, and died an awful death. My sister couldn't let it go. She was in such a bad way for so long. She wouldn't leave the house, was drinking herself into a stupor-" She glanced down at all the empty mugs on Jaskier's table. "-and we were worried that she may take her own life. Her husband found the mage, begged him for help."  
  
Jaskier leaned forward, suddenly a lot more interested. "Was the mage able to help her?"  
  
Ascilia nodded. "He's an Elven mage." She whispered quietly. "He wears hats to cover his ears during cold months, and braids his hair to hide them during the hotter months. He promised that he could cast a spell on my sister that would make her completely forget about her daughter."  
  
"And it worked? She was able to get over the death of her child?"  
  
"There was nothing to get over. She never even remembered having a baby. Her husband got rid of any memories of the little one, and told the townsfolk not to bring the baby up because she was still having a hard time dealing with it. It was like it never happened. Nothing left to mourn."  
  
Jaskier furrowed his eyebrows and frowned deeply. "What's the cost of magic that powerful?"  
  
"Nothing more than coin. According to the mage, erasing a memory is a lot like changing the past, and could change destiny. A lot of folks wouldn't dare test fate like that, afraid they might mess with what the gods have planned out for them. Now, I'm not saying this is what you should do, Jaskier. I would never make that call for someone. But I remember the first time you came through town, and all the other times since this most recent. You were so full of laughter and light. You weren't as famous back then, but you were... different. You were happier. You were always flirting with any pretty lady that gave you the time of day and your theatrics had everyone in stitches. All I've seen from you this time around is you wallowing in your own pity." Jaskier scrunched up his nose, making her laugh. "It's worth talking to Daeharice, the mage. Maybe in the least he can brew you up something that'll alleviate some of this pain you're in."  
  
"Thank you, Ascilia." Jaskier replied, nodding. "Talking to Daeharice couldn't hurt."  
  
  
  
Jaskier stood outside in front of Daeharice's house early the next morning, his head pounding to the beat of his rapid heartbeat. Too much alcohol, it seemed. And _maybe_ a bought of nerves. The elf lived at the edge of the town, the house small and to itself. He stared at the house, just as he had been for a countless amount of time. "You're just here to talk to him." He mumbled to himself. "That's it. That's all you have to do. Just talk to him." He finally raised a shaking hand, knocking.  
  
Daeharice must have been near by, because the door almost immediately opened. The elf was tall, and attractive despite his sharp features, and severe calculated look. The top of his honey blond hair was pulled back, much like how Geralt wore his, but it was carefully braided and just enough hung down for it to be able to hide the pointed tips of his ears. "Can I help you?"  
  
"S-someone told me you might be able to help me." Jaskier stuttered, his eyes wide and nervous. Daeharice narrowed his eyes at him carefully, looking the bard up and down. "I want to forget someone." Jaskier blurted. So much for simply talking.  
  
Daeharice relaxed. "Ascilia told me you may be coming. Come in." He opened the door fully, making room for Jaskier to pass him. Jaskier slipped past him, his eyes wondering the small home. There were shelves upon shelves of alchemy ingredients, odd sigils painted everywhere, and the air was thick and humming with the static of magic. Daeharice took a seat at a small, rickety table, motioning for Jaskier to take the one in front of him. "Tell me, bard. Why are you here?"  
  
Jaskier took the offered seat, fidgeting with both the strap of his lute and strap of his bag. "I've tried, Daeharice. I really have. I've been trying for _weeks_ to get over something that happened to me, and nothing is helping. No amount of alcohol, no amount of pages filled or songs sang, nothing. I still _ache_ from the loss. It's always on my mind, it never ceases. Ascilia mentioned I should speak with you. Said you had magic that could make someone forget a person."  
  
Daeharice sighed. "I do. I'll be honest with you. It's not a spell I like to perform, and I only ever perform it in rare cases."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"It's unnatural. Every living creature goes through mourning, goes through grief. The natural order of the universe is that eventually, with time, it gets easier. Using a spell to completely eradicate the one thing, or person, that caused that grief in the first place messes with the natural order. What if that grief was a sentence by fate?" Jaskier narrowed his eyes at the elf. Sure he had been the catalyst in numerous affairs, but did he really deserve a punishment such as this for that? "Then there's all the rules to take into consideration, removing any reminder of the memory from the individuals life. I won't lie to you, Jaskier. No one knows what happens to the mind if something triggers the forgotten, but I can't imagine it would be pretty. It could very well break your mind. There are risks to magic this powerful. What is it that you want to forget so badly that you're willing to take that risk?"  
  
"I want to forget the person that I'm in love with. I... I always wanted more. But I found out recently that they don't even consider me a friend, nevertheless want something more. And it's something I've been dealing with for years, but to have those feelings confirmed... it's affecting every aspect of my life, including my music. Between that, and this gorgeous face of mine, that's my livelihood. I'm heading towards being a beggar at this point. I just need to forget him."  
  
Daeharice didn't react to finding out that the individual in question was male, but he had make a face at finding that Jaskier wanted to forget someone he was in love with. "Love must be new for you. It's very rare that it doesn't hurt."  
  
Jaskier snorted. "Love is nothing new to me, dear elf. I'm a writer. I fall in love a million times a day. With a particularly splendid sunset, with the way the ocean waves lap at the coast." He looked off dreamily, but then frowned. "With the way the moonlight dances on his hair, and the way his laugh is the sweetest sound I've ever heard, despite making music of my own." He bit his lip nervously. "He's different, Daeharice. And I can't do this anymore. I have to forget him. I have to be able to let this go, let _him_ go, and I _can't_."  
  
The elf sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose before shaking his head. "It's not an easy spell, and it's not cheap. I already have all the ingredients, so I won't send you on a wild goose chase to collect them. You're a bard, and a hopeless romantic at that, so, I'm assuming that many of your songs are about him. You have to remember not to poke at this wall I'm putting in your mind. You will read your writing, hear your songs, and you will want to know who they're about. Don't. Poke. The. Wall. This is important. It's as I've said, we don't know what happens to the human mind when that wall comes crumbling down."  
  
"Anything." Jaskier responded desperately, grabbing Daeharice's hand from across the table. "Anything to not feel this way anymore. I just want to be able to move on. Like he did." He didn't want to second guess this decision, he didn't want to think about how pathetic and desperate it was.  
  
"Very well. Lie down on that cot in the corner." Daeharice stood, pointing towards a small cot. "This will not be easy. It will be very painful, both mentally and physically. But when you wake, you will no longer remember the man who broke your heart."  
  
  
  
Daeharice prepared everything he needed for the spell quickly, taking his coin and setting up for the magic with a confidence that came with experience. Jaskier nervously played with the the hem of his shirt, trying not think too hard. Did he really want to forget Geralt? No. But he wanted to forget what it felt like to be in love with him, more than anything. He partially knew that the decision was childish, petulant, but he didn't care. He had spent countless hours in his room at the inn, shedding an ocean of tears for the damned witcher. He was past his breaking point. At least this spell would allow him to move on with his life, without pining and mooning after the one person that had made it abundantly clear that he wanted absolutely nothing to do with him.  
  
Jaskier had been so deep in thought, that he hadn't realized that Daeharice was already hovering over him, his hands raised and glowing as he chanted in Elder. The more he spoke, the more his hands glowed, until finally they were bright and shaking. "Quickly." He muttered, his voice strained at trying to contain the magic. "Say the person you would like to forget."  
  
Jaskier swallowed roughly. "Geralt of Rivia."  
  
The last thing he saw was Daeharice shocked expression before he blacked out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Her Sweet Kiss" is 110% about Jaskier viewing Yennefer and Geralt's relationship, and you absolutely cannot convince me otherwise. I've been screaming about this to anyone who will listen since I first heard the song, but then someone sent me [THIS](https://fantasticallyfoolishidea.tumblr.com/post/190049836819/so-whats-her-sweet-kiss-actually-about/) tumblr post, analyzing the song, and apparently I'm not the only one who had viewed the song this way.  
> I also haven't been able to stop listening to Jaskier's songs for weeks now. The YouTubers that loop the songs for hours on end are doing the lord's work. Someone please tell Joey Batey that I love him and that he has the voice of an angel. Our poor, hopelessly in love bard.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for the lovely comments and kudos. :') I'm so glad so many people are interested in this concept. I would have had this chapter out way sooner, but unfortunately I'm an idiot, didn't save my work, and my computer restarted on me so I had to start over from scratch. 
> 
> Yennefer is in this chapter, and _yes_ she and Geralt are flirty, but I promise it's not something you have to worry about. There's a reason for it, and it's all dealt with in this chapter.

  


Geralt sheathed his sword, his chest heaving and his muscles aching in protest. A pack of ghouls wasn't a difficult or uncommon contract, but he hadn't slept properly in weeks. He hadn't slept at all in _days_ , and even for a witcher, the lack of rest was beginning to take it's toll on him. But how was he expected to sleep? There was a child that was his responsibility somewhere out there in the Continent, Yennefer had practically told him to go fuck himself, and Jaskier...

It was as if every time Geralt closed his eyes, all he could see was the look of absolute betrayal and hurt on the bard's face the last time they had seen each other up on that mountain all those weeks ago. He knew his words had stung. He knew he had hurt Jaskier, but that was his intention. Geralt had prided himself in not involving himself in the petty affairs of humans for _decades_ , and all it took was one little annoyingly persistent man to drag him in an absolute shit show in the past few years.

Geralt wiped some of the blood on his hands on the chest of his armor. This would be the moment that Jaskier would gleefully chuckle and clap his hands, say something ridiculous like 'bravo!' and then pull out his notebook to write an over embellished story about how the White Wolf slaughtered hundreds of ghouls without even breaking a sweat or losing a drop of blood. Instead of that familiar scenario, Geralt was greeted by total silence, other than the soft sound of the creek water lapping against his boots, and a lone crow cawing in the distance. Geralt had prayed for blessed silence every time Jaskier was in his presence for years, and now it was almost _too_ quiet, the lack of commentary making the silence heavy and uncomfortable.  
  
  
  
The witcher made his way back to the small town he had accepted the contract in, collecting his coin from a farmer who eyed the blood and guts staining his armor with a terrified expression. The man didn't even thank him, but Geralt didn't care. All he wanted was to return to the inn he was staying at, bathe, and pray there was enough alcohol at the bar to drink himself into oblivion. Passing out drunk wouldn't be a fitful sleep, but it would be a world's improvement from the countless, sleepless nights that he couldn't even bring himself to meditate all because of _Jaskier_.  
  
After a thorough bath and caring for his weapons and armor, Geralt was hauling himself into a quiet, dark corner of the bar with his beer. He heaved himself onto the bench, every bone, muscle and fiber of his being twinging with exhaustion. He observed his surroundings and tried not to pull a face at the bard performing at the tavern.. The man's voice was shrill and grating. Jaskier was obnoxious and never _shut up_ , but at least his voice was pleasant in comparison to the portly, overly confident bard that was strumming his lute so aggressively that Geralt could just _see_ how Jaskier would cringe in response to it. Geralt sighed and got up, ordering an entire pitcher of the strongest stout the bar had to offer before returning to his corner. One beer certainly would not be enough.  
  
Geralt was eyeing his quickly emptying pitcher when he heard the door to the pub open. He knew it was her before he even looked up, the smell of lilac and gooseberries filling his nose as he immediately felt a cosmic pull in her direction. Geralt looked up and his eyes met Yennefer's the look of frustration on her face showing that she felt the same force between them. Geralt grunted in irritation as she immediately made her way over to him, her violet eyes never leaving his. She was just as beautiful as ever in an elegant, black and white, fur lined dress and raven black curls that fell down past her shoulders. Geralt's fingers itched with the impulse to grab her and kiss her.  
  
"Geralt. We really must stop meeting like this." She smirked, sliding onto the bench across the table from him.  
  
"Hmm. I'm beginning to think it's intentional, Yen." He downed the rest of his mug and poured another drink, so full it almost overflowed.  
  
She folded her hands in front of her on the table. "This time, it is. I heard you were in town, and I have a proposition for you."  
  
Geralt raised an eyebrow at her. "Why do I feel as though this proposition won't be quite as fun as your previous ones?"  
  
She gave him a bored look. "Because this time it's not about sex. I want your help in tracking down a djinn."  
  
Snorting, Geralt took a large gulp of his stout before replying. "Because your last encounter with a djinn worked out so swimmingly."  
  
"That's why I'm asking for your help." She leaned forward, her eyes determined and fiery. "What do djinns do, Geralt?"  
  
"They grant wishes." He replied monotonously, unsure of where she was going.  
  
"They grant wishes. But they grant their interpretation of the wish, not necessarily what you were asking for. You wanted quiet, and your bard almost lost his voice entirely. In fact, he almost died." Yennefer stated, tilting her head.  
  
Geralt frowned. He didn't need the reminder. "He's not _my_ bard. He's not _my_ anything."  
  
Yennefer just smirked. "Surely. Speaking of which, where is Jaskier?"  
  
"I don't know. I haven't seen him since the dragon hunt." Geralt gritted.  
  
" _Interesting._ I thought he was practically attached to your hip." She glanced down pointedly. "Or perhaps attached to something else."  
  
"Speak your mind, Yennefer. Why do you want a djinn?" Geralt couldn't keep the snap out of his voice.  
  
Rolling her eyes, Yennefer replied. "Djinn manipulate wishes. You wished for peace and quiet and the djinn attacked Jaskier's throat. You asked to save me, and now..." She motioned between them. "I know you feel this between us too. This pull, this cosmic force every single time we're together. Don't make that sour face. I know you feel it. The magic is too strong for me to remove it for myself, and upon doing some research, I found that the only option to remove djinn magic is to have another djinn do so. We need a djinn to remove our bond."  
  
"And then what? We go our separate ways and never speak to each other again?"  
  
"Oh, Geralt. I expect the theatrics from Jaskier, but not from you. I can't imagine us capturing the djinn being the last time we ever meet."  
  
Geralt sighed. "Fine, I'll help you. Where is this djinn?"  
  
"An abandoned ship a couple of hundred miles outside the mountains of Skellige. I used a tracking spell. I'll have to use a portal to get us to it, but it shouldn't be a problem." She stood up unceremoniously. "We'll leave at first light. We'll have a bit of a trek ahead of us, I can't directly portal us there without fear of causing an avalanche." Her bright violet eyes scanned over him. "Do try to get some sleep, Geralt. You look like shit."  
  
"Just as charming as ever." He grunted in reply.  
  
"Is this about the bard?"  
  
Geralt closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, before looking back at her. "Leave it. I'll see you in the morning. Get your beauty rest. I'm not sure the world could handle you without it."  
  
Surprisingly, Yennefer smiled. "First light. Not a minute later. " She turned at the heel and sashayed off, leaving behind that oddly familiar feeling of emptiness Geralt always felt when she wasn't there.  
  
Geralt finished off his pitcher and ordered three more before stumbling up to his room. When he collapse on to the overused, hard mattress, he vaguely remembered thinking that the sheets of his inn bed's always smelled so much better on the nights he was sharing it with Jaskier.  
  
  
  
  
"You reek of alcohol. Could you not have bathed before meeting me?" Yennefer sneered, scrunching up her nose in disgust when Geralt met her in front of the inn as the sun just began to peek through the cottages in town.  
  
Geralt fixed her with a bored stare. "You're the one that wanted to meet this early. I needed the extra sleep for this trek you mentioned."  
  
"Ah, stayed out all night drinking and thinking about your missing bard, I see." She smirked, raising an eyebrow.  
  
"You call him 'my' bard, but you're the one that keeps bringing him up. Are you sure you didn't find yourself falling for his charms? I thought better of you, Yen. Lonely noble women are one thing, but I assumed a powerful sorceress wouldn't be dense enough to be ensnared by his charisma." Geralt snapped back.  
  
"Oh gods." Yennefer replied, rolling her eyes. "Write him a sonnet, why don't you? He's not nearly as alluring as he thinks he is. Or as you think he is, apparently."

Geralt just stared at her, wondering if their bond gave him away, or if he was really transparent when it came to Jaskier. Jaskier annoyed him to no end, often making him want to drive stakes in his ears, but he did... care for the man. They had spent many years together, shared meals and beds, taken contracts together. Jaskier had changed the public's opinion on him, helping line his pockets with coin and caused people to trust him more. He had been the one constant in Geralt's life since he was a small child. Sex and company were fleeting. Jaskier was always there, unwavering and always greeting him like he was happy to see him. Geralt's chest felt tight at the thought that he couldn't imagine that still being the case after how he had spoken to him last time. "Are we leaving?" He growled, his mood suddenly sour. Yennefer let him slid, raising her hands and manifesting a portal. "I hate portals..." he muttered, but Yennefer didn't respond, she just shoved him through it.

Geralt's stomach lurched and clinched uncomfortably and in the time it took him to blink, he was stumbling through, grass and dirt turning to snow crunching beneath his boots. Yennefer stepped through more gracefully, flicking her wrist and causing the portal to vanish. "It's this way." She said dismissively, hiking up her dress so that it wouldn't drag in the untouched snow. They walked in silence for a long time, and it almost amazed Geralt how odd it felt to have company that didn't constantly feel the need to fill the silence with nonstop jabbering.

"Is finding out if our bond is only due to magic really this important to you?" He finally asked.

"Is it not important to you?" Yennefer retorted.

"Not particularly. It's not as though we were planning a future with marriage and children." Yennefer didn't find the joke funny and shot him a nasty look. Maybe the 'children' part had been a bit tasteless.

"I need to know what's real and what's fabricated. Magic has ruled my life long enough. I won't allow it to rule this as well." She finally replied.

Geralt just nodded. She had a point.They marched up the side of the snowy mountain for over an hour in companionable silence when they finally found the ship. Geralt didn't question why there was a small ship on the peak of a snowy mountain, he had certainly seen weirder things in all his years alive, especially when magic was involved.

They entered the ship carefully, making sure that it was firmly planted in the snow on the mountain and their added weight wouldn't throw it off and cause it to hurdle off the cliff side. Yennefer searched the upper deck while Geralt used his witcher senses to check the lower deck. The ship had a few bodies, no longer decomposing because of the cold, and Geralt searched the cadavers for clues as to where the djinn could be. He rummaged through debris and rubble, and finally found the clay pot with a wizard's symbol on it that he knew was what they were looking for. He took the stairs to the upper deck, bringing the mug to Yennefer and smiling slightly at the thought of how it reminded him of bringing her apple juice.  
  
"You found it!" She exclaimed, immediately jerking it out of his hands to take a look at the sigil engraved in the stopper. "I'm not going to bother with the wishes." She muttered, observing the design. "I think we both learned the hard way that that's a bad idea. We're just going to bind the djinn and then come to an arrangement where we free it once it lifts the previous magic. Do you think you can weaken it enough so that I can bind it?"  
  
"Shouldn't be a problem."  
  
"My, cocky, aren't we?" She smiled.  
  
"Shouldn't I be? I handled the last one." Geralt shrugged.  
  
Yennefer shot him the very specific look that she seemed to reserve specifically for him, the one that let him know she absolutely was not impressed with him in the least. "You _barely_ handled the last one."  
  
"I was trying to stop you from dying." He grimaced.  
  
"I had it." She sighed. "Moving on. Are you ready?" Geralt removed a potion from the small sack tied at his waist. He drank it all in one go, the bitter taste not even affecting him. He never used potions unless he was gearing up for something serious, and he felt like a djinn on the side of a snowy mountain got a free pass at being prepared. "You're not going to ready your weapons?" Yennefer asked.  
  
"I'm trying _not_ to piss it off anymore than I have to. I'll stick to magic unless it forces my hand. Release it. I'm ready." Geralt responded, feeling the biting sting in his veins as the potion began to take effect.  
  
Yennefer uncorked the clay pot, stepping back as a glowing cloud of smoke billowed out of it. The smoke manifested into a the shape of the djinn, hovering just in front of them, the angry aura radiating off it like the heat from a fire. Geralt dropped down to one knee and slapped his hand to the ground, using his yrden sign to create a sigil that the djinn would get trapped in and cause it to slow down so that he could use more magic on it without have to draw his swords. The djinn let out an angry scream and immediately went for Geralt, but he dodged out of the way, making sure he remained in the sigil as he casted igni. He alternated between using igni and aard on the beast, weakening it until he knew axii would be effective. The monster slowed, in a dazed state, hovering just in front of him. "Now, Yennefer!" He growled, rolling back just in case axii wasn't powerful enough and wouldn't hold the beast.  
  
Yennefer raised her hands, glowing and vibrating, and struck a deal with the djinn. "Djinn! We wish you no harm, and do not want to bind you or use your wishes!" She was yelling over the loud vibration of her magic, and the wailing of the djinn when it released it was no longer free to attack or flee. "We only ask that you lift the bind that one of your brethren placed on us! Lift the magic and we will let you be!"  
  
The djinn shrieked, but raised both hands that glowed blue. Yennefer and Geralt were both hit with a wave of magic that caused them to stagger, and the djinn disappeared in a puff of smoke. Geralt righted himself, and noticing that Yennefer had been knocked to the floor, helped her up. She looked up at him, and if he didn't know any different, there was almost a hint of nervousness in her eyes.  
  
"How are you feeling?" He asked sincerely.  
  
"I don't feel... anything." She muttered, her eyes scanning his face. "Not towards you at least...not like before. The pull... it's no longer there. And you?"  
  
"About the same. I wonder if what we were feeling before... I wonder if that's what it's like to have axii casted on you."  
  
Yennefer sighed, shoving past him and walking to the edge of the ship that looked over the cast, beautiful mountainside. "Can we just sit here? For a bit?"  
  
"Of course." Geralt answered, watching as she sat on the edge, taking in the snowy view in front of them. Geralt sat next to her in companionable silence. It felt strange. There was no longer a cosmic force pulling him towards Yennefer, claiming him and making him drawn to her without his consent. But he still felt _something_ , something akin to perhaps friendship, but he had learned the hard way with Jaskier that he wasn't perhaps the best person to attempt to gauge friendship. He remained silent, waiting for Yennefer to break the trance he was in the moment his mind wandered back to the bard.  
  
"So, this is it?" She finally asked. "This thing between us... it's over?"  
  
"Hmm." Geralt growled. "If I no longer feel the same way, and neither do you, I can't imagine a reason as to why we should continue this dance." Yennefer almost looked sad, but Geralt could understand. The bond between them had been there for so long that it almost felt like something was missing. It reminded him of times when the road was too dangerous and he had to stay in his armor all day, everyday, when he removed it, it didn't feel quite right to no longer be wearing it. "You and I have been through a lot together, Yen. Just because we're no longer bound, just because we're not longer... romantic in nature-" Yennefer made a face. "-it doesn't mean that if you need something, you have to be afraid to reach out to me."  
  
She laughed, her raven black curls bouncing. "So, friends?"  
  
Geralt quirked a half smile. "Friends." He agreed.  
  
They both fell silent for a bit longer before Yennefer spoke up again. "Speaking of which... how badly did you fuck up, Geralt?"  
  
He raised an eyebrow at her. "What do you mean?"  
  
"With the bard. He's not with you, and all of the Continent knows that the only time you were ever able to get rid of him is if he was too busy bedding some poor women to notice your leave. What did you say to him after I left?"  
  
"Yen..." Geralt growled. "I don't want to talk about this."  
  
"Well, see, that's the thing. That's what friends do. They talk to each other. And I know you're a big, bad witcher that doesn't need anyone, and that doesn't talk about his feelings, but you fail to remember that I'm a sorceress and can see right through your bullshit. If this little internal struggle you're dealing with was any louder, I would be deaf right now."  
  
Geralt looked out over the mountains, avoiding her piercing, violet gaze. "I was angry when you left. Angrier than I had been in a very long time. The bond, our bond, was infuriating. To not be in control, and then to feel like I lost you when it felt like I was fated to be with you... that, along with having no idea where the child who is supposed to be my destiny is.... I lashed out. I blamed him for everything, because ever since the _day_ that I met Jaskier, he's dragged me into one shit storm after another. I told him everything was his fault, that all the bad things that have happened since I met him were because of him."  
  
Yennefer sighed. "You're not exactly _wrong_... but as far as humans go, Jaskier, he has pure intentions." She scrunched up her face, clearly remembering that it was common knowledge that when it came to being a bachelor, Jaskier's moral compass would quickly point south. "At least as far as you go, his intentions are pure. Have you seen the way he looks at you? It's like he's in the presence of some sort of god. Quite the improvement from how most humans call you a freak and a mutant." Geralt shot her look. He didn't need the reminder of how humans often saw him. Even after numerous songs of Jaskier singing his praise, humans were often wary at best in his presence. "The point I'm making is that while he may be the most annoying little shit to exist, he cares about you. A lot. And you won't find many people in this lifetime that do, Geralt."  
  
"What are you suggesting?" Geralt asked.  
  
Yennefer stood up, knocking snow off her dress. "Find the bard. Apologize to him. Or at least the closest thing to an apology you witchers do. Our lives are very long, and it's taken me decades, but I'm finally accepting that we don't have to go through them alone. Besides, he runs his mouth entirely too much, and can't keep his cock in his pants. He'll live a very, very short life, even for a human, without you there to protect him. He needs you."  
  
"The last thing I want is someone needing me." Geralt responded, being brought back to a time many years ago where he had said the same to Jaskier. The bard had just leaned over the tub, a flirty, boyish smirk on his face as he asked for Geralt's help. And even then Geralt had cared about him, because even then Geralt was insane enough to help him with minimal complaining, not asking for a single coin in return. Queen Calanthe had suggested that he was a fool, and perhaps he was. But whenever Jaskier would look at him with those big, bright blue eyes, his cheeks tinged with pink from excitement, an easy grin spread across his face... suddenly being a fool didn't sound so bad. The weight of the reality of what that meant hit Geralt with a force much stronger than even the djinn had been able to produce, and a sinking feeling spread his stomach. "Fuck." He murmured. Was he... in love with Jaskier?  
  
"You're a witcher, Geralt. Someone is always going to need you. At least this human doesn't just need you, he _likes_ you. I'm positive he wouldn't even be able to lift one of your swords, nevertheless defend himself, and yet he follows you all over the continent." Yennefer said with an eye roll, offering her hand to help him up.  
  
Geralt stood, not bothering to brush the snow off like Yennefer had. "He follows me because he needs new material for his music."  
  
"He has more than enough material at this point. As much as I hate to admit it, he's well known and well loved. That's the reason I know entirely too much about him. I'll get you back to your horse." She quickly motioned a portal into opening up near them. "And Geralt?"  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"I'm serious. Apologize. Grovel. Do whatever you need to do, because honestly, watching a witcher mope around has been _insufferable_."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is based off of a quest in The Witcher 3 where Yennefer wants to counteract the djinn magic that caused her and Geralt to be bonded. The quest allows you to choose if Geralt still has feelings for her once the bond is removed, and what was I supposed to do? _Not_ use that to my advantage to keep this fic as canon compliant as possible? As a shipper, I didn't want to completely dismiss the canon attachment they share, and this was the perfect way to handle canon while making Geralt and Jaskier work. And even though I loathe Yennefer in the games, I decided to write her a bit... nicer, to say the least, in this fic so that someone would be able to get through that thick head of Geralt's.
> 
> Are YOU someone who uses Facebook and wants a private group in which you can discuss The Witcher, and more specifically, Geralt and Jaskier's relationship? Feel free to join [THIS](https://www.facebook.com/groups/1022782144750835/?ref=group_browse) group! It's private, super inclusive, and hate isn't tolerated at all. Users have even described it as a small family. <3 Please fill out the questions if you join, the admins are working hard to continue making it a safe environment without trolls. 
> 
> Thank you all!!!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Be gentle. Per usual, I'm just winging it.

  


Jaskier woke feeling more well rested than he could ever recall being, despite a headache pulsing in his temples painfully. He stretched dramatically, taking a moment to recall that he was in a bed at the inn he had been staying at the past few weeks, because for a moment, he had no idea where he was. He sat up gingerly, careful not to make his head worse, and swung his legs over the side of the bed, immediately noticing a note on his nightstand. He grabbed it with one hand and rubbed sleep from his eyes with the other. The letter was short, in a slanted, looping scrawl.

_Jaskier,_  
_You took quite a fall performing last night. Remind me to cut you off if you plan on performing on the tabletops in the future. You hit your head, but the local mage, Daeharice, said that you should be fine other than things being a bit hazy. You may have trouble remembering things for awhile. He suggested that you avoid trying too hard to fill in the blanks, it could do more damage than good. Come down stairs in the morning and grab some breakfast so that I know you're all right._  
_Love, Ascilia_  
__

Jaskier grinned, folding the note and returning it to his nightstand. Ascilia was such a lovely woman, caring and motherly, and though she barely knew him, she insisted on taking care of him. It was something Jaskier had not experienced in a long time, perhaps since he was a child, and it was welcome even though he didn't plan to stick around for long. He never stuck around for long. There were always new cities to be seen, new audiences to perform for. He began to dress hastily, trying to ignore the throbbing in his head at the movements. Remembering that he had in fact taken a fall (apparently), the night before, he immediately began looking for his lute to make sure it had not been damaged. He found the instrument securely in it's case, and couldn't stop himself from running his fingers over it. The lute was an absolute beaut, sleek, sexy curves and perfectly stained, and shined wood. He couldn't recall for the life of him where he had managed to obtain such a beautiful instrument, and when he wracked his brain for the memory, his headache raged angrily, and he rubbed his temples as his vision blurred. Right. The mage had told Ascilia that trying to recollect his memories could do more harm than good. He sighed, closing the lute up in it's case, and dismissing the mystery of it's origin. He had probably obtained it from some particularly enamored professor in Oxenfurt, or perhaps from a comely maiden that had felt like he needed a keepsake from their romp in the sheets.

As he made his way downstairs, Jaskier stumbled about a bit, his head still muddled from either his head injury or his deep sleep. He reminded himself to go easy on the alcohol for awhile. Ascilia was wiping off the counter top to the bar, pocketing a few coins a recent patron had left. He felt his face light up when she looked up at him, and shot her his most flirtatious, charming smile. He wasn't _really_ flirting with her, but he had learned a long time ago that even if the flirtations weren't sincere, it could still make someone feel good. Ascilia immediately made her way from behind the counter, grabbing his face in her hands and causing his nose to scrunch up in disgust because the dirty rag was still in one of her hands.

"My dear boy, how are you feeling?" She asked, looking over him, her eyes scanning him for any signs that something might be off.

"Other than this splitting headache, I'm actually feeling quite well rested." He batted her hands away, only enjoying her mother-henning at a distance. "You have to tell me about this great fall I took last night."

Ascilia frowned at him for a moment, but then forced a smile. "First, you need to eat." She made her way back to the bar, motioning to a stool and producing a plate laden with cheese, nuts, and fruit. "You missed breakfast, but you should probably eat something light anyway. Sit. Eat."

"Yes, ma'am." Jaskier replied with a dramatic eye roll, taking the seat and immediately reaching for the cheese. He popped a cube into his mouth with a flourished flick of his wrist and moaned around it. It was good quality, as was the fruit and nuts. He sighed theatrically. He deserved good things, coin be damned. "So-" He started, swallowing a mouthful when he remembered his manners. "-how did I manage to knock myself out?"

Ascilia's back was turned to him as she cleaned behind the bar, but he could see her shoulders tense and he frowned. She must have been truly worried about him. She finally turned, a smile on her face that didn't quite meet her eyes. "You had too much to drink, and decided to dance on the table top as you sang... not realizing there was some spilled ale on the table. You slipped and ended up hitting your head on the bench. There was blood everywhere."  
  
Jaskier frowned, suddenly dropping a grape to use both of his hands to gingerly run his fingers through his hair. He didn't feel any cuts, or even any tender spots. "I was bleeding?" He asked in confusion.  
  
"Ah... yes..." Ascilia scrubbed at the already perfectly clean bar. "But the mage was the only patron here last night. He patched you right up, or at least the best he could. No bodily injuries. Just a little murky in that noggin of yours."  
  
"Where is this Daeharice? I must thank him for helping me." Jaskier stated confidently, popping some more food in his mouth.  
  
"I told him you would say that. He said your performance was payment and thanks enough. Especially after the spill you took."  
  
Jaskier grinned, batting his eyelashes. "You know me, Ascilia. I'm an addict for dramatics."  
  
Ascilia laughed. "You're feeling all right, though?"  
  
"The only thing that's truly hurt is my pride. I was lucky the pub was mostly empty. This is woefully pathetic of me to ask, Ascilia, but I'm having trouble recalling.... where exactly am I? What town, or city?"  
  
"There's no need to be embarrassed, just remember what the mage said. Don't... think too hard." She mumbled. He nodded, hoping it would make her continue. "This is The Siren's Call, a pub and inn. We're not exactly in a town or city, more of a settlement. Near the coast."  
  
Hearing that The Siren's Call was near the coast twisted something in Jaskier, making him sad and feel a pang of longing. He frowned, unsure of why he had the immediate reaction. Had he really missed the coast so much that just the mention of it could overwhelm him? His frown deepened. It had been _years_ since he visited the coast, but it always calmed him. There was a feeling of happiness and serenity that came with the peaceful sound of the waves kissing the shore, the salt air soaking into his skin. It always felt like anything was possible there, with coastal birds cawing in the distance, muted by the crash of the waves. "Ah, the coast." He responded quietly. "That would make sense, there's nothing quite as romantic. The ocean never stops reaching for the shore, despite how many times the moon may try to pull her back." He finished picking at his plate before adding "I suppose it's about time for me to move on. Any boats to Skellige? I can't remember the last time I was there. Maybe that should be my next destination."  
  
"You may be close to the coast, Jaskier, but you still have a ways to go. And you should at least give yourself a few more days of rest." She sighed, thinking. "Maybe make some more coin before being on your way. You and I both know that trips to Skellige aren't cheap."  
  
Jaskier smiled. With such kindness shown to him, he couldn't say no. "You're right, of course. As long as you won't have my head for performing."  
  
Ascilia pointed a stern finger at him. "No more dancing on tables."  
  
Jaskier couldn't help but laugh.  
  
  
  
Clothes were thrown everywhere. The sheets from the bed were ripped from it's neatly tucked corners, and the mattress itself was on the floor. Jaskier had completely ripped his room apart, and yet he could not find his notebook full of songs. He had _countless_ songs written it, and of course he remembered most off the top of his head, what bard wouldn't, but what about the ones he had only just started? The ones he still had left to write? The disconnected thoughts and verses he was still working on? He had asked Ascilia if she knew about it, but she seemed clueless. Jaskier had the sneaking suspicion that maybe Ascilia wasn't telling him everything, but she seemed to be looking out for his best interest. Perhaps it had something to do with his fall, about the spell the mage had used to save him, and if that were case, he knew he shouldn't pry. He just couldn't wait for this fog on his brain to be lifted. Jaskier threw himself on the floored mattress dramatically. He had the odd feeling that perhaps he was forgetting more than just songs. He felt like he was forgetting something far more important.  
  


  


Geralt wasn't sure he had ever ridden Roach quite so hard and long, at least not _this_ Roach, but he was so close to the coast that he could taste the salt in the air. It didn't take him long to locate Jaskier's location, surprisingly enough. He had asked about the bard with each new town, city, or settlement he entered, even asking at campsites he came across. Eventually someone complained about being at a pub and inn by the name of the Siren's Call, near the ocean, and their peace being disturbed by a bard that had been staying there. Apparently, said bard was often either too drunk to perform, or playing woeful songs of heartbreak, completely ruining the atmosphere. Geralt grunted in annoyance at the thought of the man insulting Jaskier as he allowed Roach to slow to give her a rest. She had been running at full speed for a few miles, and it was time for her to slow to a trot so that she didn't wear herself out. Geralt sighed. Leave it up to Jaskier to be wallowing in his dramatics since the incident on the mountain. Geralt _had_ been in the wrong, but the bard was already trying to ruin his reputation over a few cruel words from _Geralt_ , as if Jaskier couldn't have anyone he wanted to keep him company, and often did.

Geralt had never intended for Jaskier to mean this much, had never intended to ignore everything his witcher training had instilled in him just to find one, incredibly _annoying_ poet. He wouldn't admit it at the time, but he had known for a long time that Jaskier meant something to him. It was really set in stone with the absolute panic he felt knowing that the djinn had left Jaskier near death. As much as he tried to convince himself, and Jaskier, that he didn't care, there was no room left to argue that he cared when his first instinct was to do whatever it took to save the bard. And sure, he was angry on that mountain top, he was _furious_ that his life was spiraling out of control and had been since he met Jaskier, but as soon as the bond with Yennefer was lifted, he was feeling a sense of clarity that he hadn't felt since before the djinn's magic. He kept trying to shove down the hesitant thought that perhaps he was in _love_ with Jaskier, but the bond had lifted, and with it had lifted a fog that he wasn't even aware of because he was so enamored with Yennefer. With this new clarity, there was a part of him that wished that fog was still there, because at least he didn't have to think about his feelings for Yennefer, they were undeniable, just there in the open with no room for questioning. With Jaskier it was more more complicated. Jaskier was a notorious womanizer. He fell in love with any comely maiden that gave him the time of day, but the love burned big and bright, and ended up burning out in the blink of an eye. Geralt wasn't sure what he wanted from Jaskier, wanted _with_ him, wasn't even entirely sure if Witcher's were capable of _truly_ being in love, but he knew he didn't want to be just another line in one of Jaskier's songs. If that were the case, he would rather be nothing at all, he could just keep these thoughts to himself. He had absolutely no intention of telling Jaskier how he felt, but the important thing was that the man deserved an apology. And wine. Maybe Geralt could be forgiven with the help of Jaskier's favorite wine. He was often swayed by the finer things in life.

The Siren's Call came into view just as the sun was setting. Geralt grimaced at the name. He hated dealing with sirens, and was thankful that it wasn't close enough to the coast for them to actually be a problem. The Siren's Call didn't have a stable, but it did have a water trough and he made sure that Roach was watered and given some oats before leaving her to graze. She neighed happily, and he stroked her neck, smiling at how she leaned her weight into the touch. She was one of his favorite mares that he had ever owned. She had a lot more personality than most horses, and the personality often complimented his own based on how she didn't like to be touched by strangers, and narrowed her eyes at Jaskier every time he spoke to her. She had been well worth the coin, and as long as she was smart and avoided danger on the road, she would still have many years left.

"At least you've never judged me for being shit at words." He said softly. Roach ripped up some grass and turned her head to look at the sound of his voice. "I still haven't the slightest clue what I'm supposed to say to him." Roach whinnied and flicked her tail. "I don't think a simple 'I'm sorry' would ever be enough for someone as... theatrical as him. And despite what Yen suggested, I'm not going to _grovel_ -" Roach bumped him with her head in the direction of the pub's door, and he laughed, wondering if maybe the mare sometimes understood more than she let on. "I'm going. Don't wander too far."

Approaching the building, and pushing open the door, Geralt sighed. He had been able to hear the music from outside, but now that he was inside, there was no mistaking that it was Jaskier performing, not that Geralt wouldn't be able to pick his voice out from a mile away. The pub was rather large, and the bard was in the back, giving Geralt the perfect opportunity to slink inside undetected to order a drink and contemplate what he was going to say. A woman was working the bar, and the moment she saw him, the smile dropped from her face. Her eyes looked at his hair, dropped to his eyes, and finally rested on his witcher's medallion.

"You can't be here." She said immediately.

Geralt grunted, irritated. Generally this far away from bigger cities, humans weren't so quick to dismiss a witcher. "I'm just here for a drink and to speak with someone, and then I'll be on my way."

She looked over her shoulder, clearly at Jaskier milking the crowd with one of his older songs, and then came around from behind the bar, grabbing his arm and pulling him even further out of view from the back with the bard was performing. Geralt allowed himself to be led, thoroughly confused. "That's exactly _why_ you can't be here." She whispered shrilly. "That's why you're here, right? To speak with Jaskier?"

"What is my business to you? I'm not here to cause trouble. I'll be on my way before I cause you any issues."

The woman glared at him, her mouth pressed into a thin, disapproving line. "Jaskier has spent _weeks_ upset about how you treated him. I've heard the story a million times, and for once, I don't think he embellished any of it. He finally gets in a better way, and you think I'm just going to let you come waltzing in and turn everything upside down?" Geralt frowned. Of _course_ Jaskier had been telling anyone that would listen about what happened. He _was_ a story teller.

"I..." Geralt started. He owed this woman no explanation, but had a feeling he wasn't going to get past her without blood if he didn't have one. "I'm here to apologize to him."

"It's not a good idea, Geralt." The woman shook her head.

Geralt frowned. Apparently Jaskier had even been using his name. He often changed names, at least in his songs. Perhaps he hadn't written a ballad about it, but was simply looking for any lending ear. "So, you know who I am, but I have no idea who you are, or why you're concerning yourself with this matter."

"I'm Ascilia, and I've known Jaskier for a long time. I know him a lot better this time around, but he's been weaving in and out of The Siren's Call from time to time for years. And he's a good kid. I don't want any trouble, especially now that he's finally acting like himself again." She put her hands on her hips, and glared at him. It almost made Geralt laugh, because it wasn't intimidating in the least bit.

"The last thing I want is trouble. I've caused him enough. I just want to apologize, and then I'll leave, with or without him." Geralt muttered earnestly.

Ascilia sighed, looking torn. She peaked over her shoulder at Jaskier, who was currently singing directly to a woman that was looking at him with big, smitten eyes. He shot her a wink before giving the rest of the crowd his attention. "Not everyone get a second chance." She mumbled, which seemed mostly to herself. "I feel like there's something you should know." She added, turning back to him. "But I don't feel like I should be the one to tell you. It...it's complicated."

"I don't like riddles." Geralt growled.

"I cannot offer you an explanation, witcher. Not now at least. Tomorrow. Early. Jaskier sleeps in late. But I can't talk about it, not with him here. It's too dangerous. Dangerous for him. Just...be careful how you speak to him." She looked nervous, and it twisted something in Geralt's gut similar to fear.

"What has he gotten himself into?" And there was that familiar, unsettling feeling of worry that Geralt got when he thought Jaskier was in harm's way.

Ascilia smiled sadly, but before she could reply, someone was flagging her down for another drink. She quickly poured two, shoving one in his hands as she passed him. "He did what he had to. Just don't talk to him tonight. Speak with me in he morning." She walked off to give the drink to the other customer. Geralt watched her, immediately turning in the direction of Jaskier. Ascilia may have _thought_ that she knew what was best for Jaskier, but Geralt knew how easily his feelings could be hurt, how sensitive he could be, and he _deserved_ an apology before it was too late.

Jaskier had finished his song, and was sitting atop a table, completely ignoring it's wooden stools other than to prop his foot on one to cross his legs. He had a tankard in one hand, drinking from it hastily as he brushed his sweaty bangs from his forehead, probably giving himself a break in between songs.

"Jaskier." Geralt growled as he reached him.

The bard looked up at him, shocked. His eyes scanned over Geralt from top to bottom, a smirk tugging at his lips. "Yes?"

"What I said... all those weeks ago on the mountain, I wanted to-"

Jaskier tilted his head, clearly confused as his eyes searched Geralt's face. "I'm sorry, do I know you?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm honestly so glad that I decided to create this fic, because I feel like it's a common trope in Geraskier (I still prefer Bitcher for Bard x Witcher, dammit) fics to have Jaskier being the one hopelessly love struck and wondering how Geralt would handle it. And I'm just letting this fic write itself, and it just so happens that it's Geralt's turn to be in that position because poor Jaskier doesn't even know who he is, nevertheless remember his feelings for him. But it provides an interesting journey that's ahead.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a bit short, but there's so much ahead that I needed to break it off before it became too long and flowed poorly. Enjoy!

Geralt stared blankly at Jaskier for a moment before grimacing and crowding the bard's space. "I didn't come here for your theatrics; you can save the show for your crowds. I came here to apolo-"

"I don't know you... but I _do_ know you." The easy, flirtatious smirk had reappeared as Jaskier trailed his eyes over Geralt. "White hair... two, very scary looking swords... and is that blood on your shirt? Never mind, it doesn't matter. Oh-ho-ho, I certainly know who you are. You're the witcher. Geralt of Rivia."

"What are you-"

The real question-" Jaskier interrupted him again. "Is how you think you know me. Mistaken me for another bard perhaps?" A sudden fire appeared in Jaskier's eyes. "Oh gods, I hope you're not thinking of that wretch Valdo Marx-"

"Jaskier!" Geralt barked, grabbing the bard by the shoulders and shaking him slightly.

Jaskier's widened and his pupils dilated, and Geralt could smell the change in his scent. He was alarmed, not afraid, _never_ afraid of Geralt, and mixed with that alarm was the faint, barely there smell of his arousal. Geralt could only ever recall the two tangled together one other time. When they first met. "You're the butcher of Blaviken." Jaskier murmured, finally connecting the dots.  
  
Something intense and cold spread in Geralt's chest, something akin to fear. Jaskier had only ever called him that once, realized how much he hated that brand, and never called him that again. And Geralt knew he deserved to hear it again, and again, and again, because when he wasn't butchering people or monsters, he was butchering relationships. And he had intentionally said that he and Jaskier were not friends despite knowing how much _he_ hated _that_. But this? This was different. Jaskier was looking at him like he was seeing him for the first time, and it felt like someone had stabbed him in the gut and twisted. Something was _wrong_.

Geralt opened his mouth to speak, to say something, _anything_ , but then he flinched as he felt something hit his head. He turned to find Ascilia, one shoe on her foot, the other in her hand, raised to smack him again. "I will _not_ have you harassing the entertainment! Out!" She yelled, bringing the shoe down again. He easily blocked it and glared at her, but allowed himself to be herded away from Jaskier, shooting him a quizzical look that he saw mirrored on the other man face. Ascilia smacked him and pushed him until they were at the door, her eyes narrowed angrily and her mouth twisted into an ugly scowl. "I _told_ you not to talk to him, at least not until you talked to me first. I _told_ you to wait-"

"What the _fuck_ is wrong with him?" Geralt asked.

"Out!" She shouted again, louder than before. She then dropped her voice to a whisper. "Wait outside, you absolute fool." Geralt glanced over her shoulder at Jaskier, who was cradling his head like it hurt. He allowed himself to be pushed outside, going over to Roach for lack of anything else to do. She neighed softly in acknowledgement but continued to graze.

He reached for his mare, carding his gloved fingers through her mane. "You wouldn't believe what you just missed." He muttered, still trying to wrap his head around the fact that Jaskier was looking at him like he didn't even know him-

"He doesn't know you." Ascilia interrupted his thoughts, glancing over her shoulder to make sure she wasn't being, followed, and approaching him.

"We've known each other for nearly half his life-"

"Yes, and instead of _appreciating_ that he's spent some of the best years of his life following you around like a starved pup, you completely break him?!" Ascilia roared over him. Geralt's mouth shut with an audible clink, and he realized, he had no way to respond to her anger....because she was completely right. Ascilia pinched the bridge of her nose. "Blessed be... with the way he talked about you, you're not what I expected. And then Daeharice told me it was _you_ he wanted to forget, then there were all the rumors that turned out to be not entirely fictitious..."

"Are you going to continue to speak in riddles or am I going to have to _make_ you speak clearly?" Geralt growled. The threat was empty. Geralt had no plans of hurting the woman, but his frustration and annoyance were mounting, and she wasn't helping. 

Ascilia laughed bitterly and looked to the sky. "And now he threatens me! Even as I'm trying to help!"

"You're not helping." Geralt snapped, taking his hand off of Roach to curl it at his side in frustration. "At all. Tell me what happened to him."

Sighing, Ascilia looked worn. It aged her beyond her years, but Geralt supposed that wasn't uncommon when spending time with Jaskier. She looked at him sadly. "I don't know all the details, witcher. Truly. It's a blessing I don't, because I would be running you out of the settlement and not just the pub. But Jaskier came wandering into The Siren's Call like he always does, but this time he was different. People were asking him to retell all the stories he's known for, but he rarely sang them. He just told them with no fervor, like he was forcing himself to. I finally got enough out of him to know that he had been through a 'break up of sorts'-" Geralt flinched. "-and that he was finding it impossible to get over."

"A..breakup... of sorts?" Geralt's throat was incredibly dry.

"I would berate you for looking so shocked, but I was too when I found out he was talking about you. I don't know what happened between you two-"

"We were never even together!" Geralt barked, suddenly defensive about Ascilia's wording and how it was so obvious that he had feelings for the bard. What had Jaskier been saying at all these pubs around The Continent? Had _he_ known that Geralt had feelings for him?

A look of realization spread across Ascilia's face. "Oh, no... the song... it wasn't about a woman that he loved, if was about a woman _you_ love."

"Yen?" Geralt questioned. The more Ascilia spoke, the more confused he was. Why was Jaskier writing a song about Yennefer?

"It must be that you..." Ascilia pondered. "You don't realize it do you?"

"Apparently fucking not-"

"This is your second chance, Geralt of Rivia. You're getting a second chance at being able to repair things between you and your...friend." She was looking at him oddly, and it made Geralt's skin crawl. "I can't tell you everything. Partially because I do not know everything, and I'm trying to piece all of this together myself. Despite popular belief, Jaskier can be quite private. Partially because some things are for Jaskier to say, not for me. And I will not take that voice from him. What I can tell you is that when you two parted, it changed him. He wasn't coping well. You _hurt_ him. He was miserable, drinking himself into a stupor, and making an absolute fool of himself. He went to see a mage, a very powerful one that can erase memories of individuals on rare occasions if he's convinced. He chose to erase you. He doesn't know you anymore." Geralt felt his face morph into a glower, rage towards towards the mage growing inside him.. "Don't give me that look. Jaskier had to have had his reasons, and the mage was simply doing his job. A wall has been put up, one that blocks all the memories he's had of you. Poking at that wall can be dangerous. Maybe not for a witcher, but it's too much for the human mind. You can't just try to force him to remember everything. It could... it could kill him. It's another thing that not everyone knows all the details of, but Jaskier was warned before he made his decision. I'm sure he never expected to run into you again."

Geralt closed his eyes, inhaling deeply and calming himself as to not track this mage down and rip their fucking head off. "So what _can_ I do?"

Ascilia shrugged honestly. "I would say speak with the mage, but you're clearly too angry to do so without causing trouble. He's a good man. He was only trying to help Jaskier, whether you see that or not. I'll speak with him. Don't search him out. He'll find you."

"I fucking _hate_ magic..." Geralt growled, mostly to himself. He spoke to Ascilia next. "And in the meantime?"

Ascilia rolled her eyes, unimpressed. "In the meantime, pretend that you're meeting Jaskier for the first time so he doesn't start nagging at the wall in his mind. I would suggest avoiding him entirely. But after the way he looked at you in there... I can't imagine that happening."

As if right on cue, Jaskier appeared a few yards off, exiting the pub. He had a small, calculated frown on his face, and was holding onto his lute strap tightly. Ascilia gave him one last meaningful look before turning on he heel and brushing past Jaskier, patting him on the shoulder at she entered the pub. Jaskier approached him slowly, the frown sliding into a confident smile that matched perfectly with his easy gate.

"So, that was quite the weird first impression, wasn't it?"

Geralt immediately turned his back, focusing on Roach to hide... to hide something. Maybe it was to hide the grimace on his face, or because he had a sneaking suspicious that the bard would be able to see the hurt? betrayal? in his eyes that he felt he knew was there. He was a damned witcher, he had had extensive training to keep things like that in check, but while he was no longer a human, he still wasn't perfect. And the weight of the decision that Jaskier had made to forget him made him _ache_ , worse than the first person he killed being disgusted by him, worse than Yennefer leaving him up on that mountain top.

Or maybe he turned his back because he couldn't even find it in himself to _look_ at Jaskier right now. He was certain that if he did, something in him would break. The amount of _hurt_ he had brought Jaskier for him to make a decision so careless had to have been something he couldn't even wrap his head around. Geralt pretended to adjust Roach's bridle, and she neighed at Jaskier, shuffling her hooves excitedly. Traitor. So _now_ she wanted to be friendly towards to the bard.

"Not much of the conversationalist, are you?" Jaskier took a step forward and _fuck_ Geralt could smell him. The scent of overpriced soaps and oils, the faint whiff of top dollar wine, and a smell that was so uniquely Jaskier that Geralt could ignore the cloying scent of other people that clung to the him. "That's alright. I've been told I talk enough for two people. I'm Jaskier, by the way."

"I know." Geralt growled. He exhaled through his nose, soothing his irritation. "Word carries. So do your songs." Roach's bridle had been readjusted three times. He started focusing on making sure the strands of her mane were straight.

"Speaking of which... apparently, at times, word doesn't always carry truthfully. After you left, or Ascilia kicked you out rather, someone corrected me. Said that there were many more stories of you doing good than bad, and perhaps the whole-" Jaskier paused and Geralt didn't need to look to know he was doing a grand gesture "Blaviken thing may not be entirely accurate. She also seemed very confused that I didn't know this."

Geralt finally turned to face Jaskier, and the a smile automatically spread across the bard's face. Geralt felt his unnaturally slow heart speed up a bit about how it caused his bright, excited eyes to crinkle at the corners and how it made him look boyish and joyful despite him being in his 30's. Geralt started to say something, but then stopped himself. Even in meeting Jaskier for the first time again, he still was received warmly with no fear, with no shying away. Jaskier was the same bright beacon of light, not matter what circumstances were thrown his way, no matter what scary monster or situation he was facing. Geralt sighed. "And if I really am the Butcher of Blaviken?"

Jaskier smirked. "Well then I'm sure you're chock full of stories to tell." He puffed his chest out confidently, and Geralt almost laughed. Almost. "And I would be honored if you would humble me by allowing me to write songs about such heroic tales."

"What if those tales show that I'm no hero?"

Flipping his bangs gracefully, Jaskier's smirk only grew more confident. "Well, dear witcher... I'm convinced you're a hero if you've done more good than bad. I shouldn't have a hard time convincing everyone else."

Geralt felt the corners of his lips turn up in a small smile. Jaskier had no idea how right he was.

Geralt had expected a lot to change once he realized he had feelings for Jaskier.

One thing that he hadn't expected to stay the same was that Jaskier was still the most annoying human being on the entire fucking planet.  
  
What he didn't understand was how Jaskier made him want to pull his hair out and shove his swords in his ears, but at the same time... he had somehow missed that more than he would ever admit. Jaskier _never_ seemed to stop talking, constantly filling the silence with his ramblings, and that's when Geralt realized that maybe Jaskier was always talking hoping that one day Geralt would actually talk back. Sure, they had had countless conversations throughout the years, but they were mostly one sided. It didn't matter who he was talking to, Geralt was almost never offering more input than necessary unless the discussion was about a contract.  
  
"Did you just mention Oxenfurt?" Geralt interrupted Jaskier's nonstop chatter. Jaskier had begged Ascilia to let Geralt back in, promising that he would take any responsibility for any trouble. Ascilia had given Geralt a very intense look but agreed, and they had grabbed the table Geralt was sitting at earlier.  
  
Jaskier stared at Geralt for a moment. "Ah, well, yes. I've been talking about Oxenfurt for awhile now." His bottom lip jutted out slightly, and _gods_ Geralt wished that petulance wasn't almost _cute_ on the bard's face.  
  
"It's... been a long day." Geralt made an excuse, "You went to Oxenfurt?"  
  
A playful, self-assured smile it up Jaskier's face. "You're not the best listener, Geralt. Fortunately for you, I never tire of talking about myself." Jaskier leaned forward, his elbows on the table, and swirled the wine in his glass with a flick of his wrist, and Geralt wondered if that statement was actually true, because in his experience, Jaskier vastly preferred talking about Geralt when given the chance. "I didn't just _go_ to Oxenfurt, witcher. I was the top of all my classes and I then became a teacher myself."  
  
Geralt's brain felt like it stopped working for a moment. _Jaskier_ taught _at Oxenfurt_? Suddenly, Jaskier being able to speak Elder to one of the elves in Dol Blathanna made sense. Why had Geralt never questioned a simple bard being able to speak Elder? Why in the fuck had Jaskier never told Geralt that he wasn't just some bard, that he was highly educated, enough so that Oxenfurt had asked him to _teach_? Or maybe he had, and Geralt had just never listened. He was always too preoccupied. Preoccupied in ignoring the bard, preoccupied with a contract or monster, preoccupied with Yennefer. How often did he actually take the time to listen to what Jaskier had to say? Geralt cleared his throat, realizing he was just blankly staring at his drinking companion. "What made you stop teaching?" He asked.  
  
"There were quite a few reasons. Some of them women." Jaskier sighed. "But the biggest reason is that I wanted more. I wanted to see more, to experience more, to _feel_ more." He got a dreamy look in his eyes as he looked off, reminiscing. His eyes drifted back to Geralt, and they were so fucking blue that Geralt wondered why he ever spent time avoiding them. "I wanted adventure."  
  
Geralt wet his lips with his tongue and Jaskier's eyes tracked the motion, and fuck this wouldn't be so hard if Jaskier wasn't such a fucking flirt. Geralt couldn't help but wonder what else he had missed out on knowing about Jaskier. "Did you find it?" Geralt asked, for lack of anything else to say. "Did you find the adventure you were looking for?"  
  
Jaskier's eyes gave Geralt a slow, intense once over before he threw back his head, laughing. "I'm starting to think I may have."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor, hopeless Geralt, unable to realize that Jaskier was in love with him too. So, now he's just trying to repair a friendship, unknowing that under that spell, there's a bard that's completely and irrevocably in love with him. But if Ascilia would have told him that after connecting the dots herself, she would have interfered with how things were fated to play out, now wouldn't she? Also, more will be explained about the spell later, and how imperfect it really is. There are numerous reasons as to why it's not common practice. Daeharice will explain more later (Geralt won't give him a choice).
> 
> If you're new to my writing, I truly hope you're not expecting this fic to be short. I don't really go in for that sort of thing. I definitely don't drag out plots in an unnecessary manner, but Geralt definitely isn't going to be able to patch up things with Jaskier overnight either. There are moments that are going to be frustrating, moments that are bittersweet, moments that are fluffy, and moments that are going to make you want to kill both Jaskier and Geralt. And all your comments have been unbelievably kind, and I hope you're all willing to stick this ride out til the end. This fic is already one that means a lot to me.
> 
> (I also absolutely ADORE Jaskier's hatred for Valdo Marx, and will be exploring that further.)


End file.
